


I Put a Spell on You

by Chasingcara



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Disney Descendants - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chasingcara/pseuds/Chasingcara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which harry wears a sparkly tiara and louis wears skinny jeans </p>
<p>OR </p>
<p>a disney descendants au where harry wants love, louis wants attention and niall wants harry to just stop talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Put a Spell on You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tita/gifts).



**_A Disney The Descendants au would be amazing! It's a kids movie but there's this love spell that the guy knows about the whole movie and idk I think it'd be a nice AU! I'd love to have Liam and Louis as the Villain's kids and Niall and Harry as the princess! A bit of added smut would be cool too haha (Just pls no watersports or super extreme kinks!)_ **

** p r o l o g u e  **

Harry would like to think that Louis is good.

He doesn’t look it - he has hair that hangs in his eyes and tattoos and a filthy mouth but Harry would like to think that he can be good. There’s a part of him he’s been hiding for a while, a part that’s running through his blood right now, that wants to be kind and gentle and soft. Harry thinks he’s probably seen it once or twice for a few stolen moments. Harry would like to think that Louis is good, but he can’t be sure because he has hair that hangs in his eyes and tattoos and a filthy mouth. Good people don’t have those things, not here, where good walks on heels and bad doesn’t walk at all, it struts, cigarette hanging from it’s mouth and rubber shoes leaving scuff marks on the tile.

Good is perfume on a single girl’s skin, bad is single-girl perfume on a married man’s shirt collar.

There are differences here. Harry doesn’t find them too horribly stark - the differences here are slight, and hard to find. Harry would like to think that Louis is good but the differences between good and bad are sometimes so vague ; it’s hard to tell. Good and bad at Stonewall Castle coexist in an uneasy balance, and Harry can’t help but think that Louis will be the one to disrupt it.

He’s poking at that balance right now, actually, making out with one of Belle’s many daughters in the corner of the basement while Maleficent’s son sucks marks into his neck. Louis’ lips are alcohol-slick and glistening under the strobe lights while his pretty eyelashes flutter against the tops of his cheekbones in something that looks like bliss, jeans clinging to his thighs and bunching around his ankles. Harry thinks he looks ethereal like that, with his face so soft and skin dewy, and if Harry didn’t already know, he might mistake Louis for a prince.

Well, he is a prince. Just not Harry’s definition of one, anyways.

The Evil Prince opens his eyes halfway and catches Harry’s wide, innocent bambi eyes and just… smiles. Lips quirked up at the ends, smug yet so, so endearing and unique and the curly-haired boy has to take a moment and catch his breath.

And that was the beginning of the end, really.

*

**ready, set… go**

Niall mentions it the following week.

They’re sitting on opposite sides of the dorm room, Harry in criss-cross position with his lanky legs tucked under his flannel-covered body while Niall is lying on his stomach, textbook propped up on his pillow, eyes scanning the pages. Both have feet clad in fuzzy socks because it gets just about subarctic in the castle during wintertime, and Zayn knitted them some blankets before he left before this semester so those are draped over their bump-covered, frigid skin. Harry doesn’t know if he’s imagining it when he notices that Niall’s lips have a weird bluish hue to them - He decides to ignore it.

Niall last talked to Harry about two hours before, and that was to inform his flatmate that he wasn’t to be disturbed because “this exam is in like two days and I really need to study, please Harry, just try to be quiet.” And Harry is trying, he really is, but it’s so hard because he’s just a talkative person and all these thoughts aren’t leaving his mouth and that’s weird. He’s supposed to be studying too, that was the objective for today, but he simply is too bouncy for it right now. He can literally feel himself bubbly with the need to just speak and to tell Niall all about how he almost burned down the flat with the microwave earlier today. It’s a need.

“Um,” he starts tentatively, “do you wanna hear about -”

“Oh golly,” Niall gasps, palm flying to his lips to cover them in surprise. “This is so interesting. I heard about this before, you know, but I didn’t think it was real.”

Thankful for the distraction, thankful that Niall was the initiator, Harry jumps up from his mattress and wiggles his way onto Niall’s tiny twin bed, looking over the highlighted, glossy textbook pages. The only thing underlined and starred on the entire page are two words : **love potion.**

Harry rushes to say something about it - about how he’s been looking for one of those, about how he feels guilty for it because the whole thing is pot-holed with consent issues - but he chokes on his spit and has to take a few seconds to cough it all out before breaking into eager conversation. “Can you make that for me?” he asks, voice still strained from his fit a couple seconds ago. “I just… [cough] I really need it but I don’t want you to judge [cough] me.” He presses his fist to his chest and coughs one more time before settling back against his pillows, sighing.

Niall continues to read for a few seconds, feet swinging excitedly from where they’re bent at the knee and in the air, before turning to Harry with furrowed brows and lopsided glasses. “What’re you using it for?” Niall dog-ears the page and slides it under his pillow like he thinks hiding it there will provide top of the line protection from Harry’s prying fingers. Harry has this tendency to meddle in things that aren’t his (like other people’s relationships, mostly) and after two years of sharing such tight quarters with such a mischievous, curly-headed man, Niall’s learnt from his mistakes and protects his items. Harry will sometimes find random things Niall thought were important at the time and has since forgotten in odd places, places that include under the bathroom sink and in the meat drawer of the fridge (Harry’s been vegetarian since the beginning of freshman year).

The tall boy looks to his fingers as he ponders how to answer Niall’s question. He could be honest and make the blonde freak out a little, or he could lie and make Niall never suspect a thing.

Too bad Harry’s never lied a day in his life.

“IneedittomakeLouisTomlinsonfallinlovewithme.”

Niall shook his head confusedly. “Can you like, actually speak English? Maybe?” he asks sassily.

“I need to make Louis Tomlinson fall in love with me,” Harry enunciates, quietly but just enough that Niall can understand, shame colouring his words a deep, guilty blue. The colour kind of hangs around the curly-haired prince like a fog nowadays, Niall’s noticed.

It’s a bit sad, really, because Niall’s always associated Harry with pink.

Niall sits up against the wall, and Harry shifts so his head is resting on Niall’s knee. Piercing green eyes stare up at the ceiling and Niall wonders if maybe the whole thing will come down with how intense the contact is. “Why do you want that?” The Irishman asks. “He’s a troublemaker, babe.”

Harry’s frustrated groan echoes off the mahogany floors. “I just want him to love me. I think I get so sad nowadays because he doesn’t, you know?” When Niall shakes his head ‘no, I don’t know’, Harry continues, unperturbed. “I think he’s probably a good person at heart.”

“You do understand that when he takes this potion, he’ll be obsessed with you, yeah? He’s going to follow you around and be jumping your bones every moment he gets and it can get dangerous, Harry. What if you suddenly decide you’ve had enough of it?”

“I _won’t.”_

Niall rolls his eyes and mumbles, “don’t come crying to me when this all goes to shit,” but starts adding the potion ingredients to his grocery list. Harry watches his plan start to take shape in front of his eyes, and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen in awhile. All the stress of the day, of the week, or the month melts away when he thinks about Louis holding him as rain crashes into the window pane, or Louis calling him ‘baby’. Warmth spreads from the top of his head to the tip of his toes and his stomach erupts into butterflies. “Should be done by Wednesday, mate,” Niall informs, and as Harry returns to his own bed, he can’t get his mind off of this most exciting event.

He skips to his classes for the rest of the week.

*

Louis doesn’t start feeling weird until three days later.

His head feels heavier, like someone is pushing down on his skull with thoughts of this… Prince? He must be a Prince, just based off of his looks. He looks a bit like Belle, if Louis is being honest.

But thoughts of a pretty boy keep roaming around his head constantly, and every waking moment is spent wondering how he took his tea this morning, or if he would maybe turn up on one of Louis’ classes, or if maybe they live on the same side of the school. Funny thing is, Louis doesn’t even remember seeing him before. It was just like he woke up one morning and the boy was just in his brain.

Odd.

He starts asking around - he asks about a smaller boy with brown hair curled behind his ears and deep dimples, asks them if maybe they know of a prince with those features. The boy has to be good, there’s no way he’s on Louis’ side.

He’s much too innocent-looking for that.

Liam’s lounging on the couch when Louis comes in that night, feet propped up on the coffee table. Beer cans and empty snack bags are crumpled and littered around the room and there’s a faint scent of boy lingering in the air. Louis kicks his shoes off and joins his flatmate, back leaning against the opposite couch arm.

His tired hand drapes over his eyes as he exhales. “Still haven’t found ‘em?” Liam enquires, stuffing Cheese Puffs in his mouth. The orange dust is reminiscent on his fingertips and a little bit on the couch yet Louis can’t find it in himself to be angry.

“He’s got to be around here somewhere, yeah? Like, I’ve seen him before. I’ve had to. How else would I have his pretty fucking face in my brain all the fucking time?” Louis gripes, using his hands to illustrate his words, Liam’s eyes following their movement. “It’s insane, Li. I just woke up and suddenly he’s all I think about.”

The t.v volume lowers as Louis’ arse shifts and presses on the volume button, prompting the prince to throw the remote across the room in sheer frustration. Liam lazily flicks his wrist towards the remote carnage before speaking. Louis listens as his eyes follow the autonomal moving batteries and mending plastic pieces. “You’re stressing it too much, mate,” Liam informs him, “just let it happen. You’ll meet him when you meet him - if you keep making it your main focus you’re never going to.”

Louis spits out a sharp “fuck you and your dumb advice” before jumping up from the cushion and leaving Liam wondering what the hell he did to deserve such a mood swing.

Louis can’t deal with him right now - he’s supposed to be the person to tell him what he wants to hear, even if he doesn’t know what that is exactly. It’s just so frustrating when the people he’s chosen don’t do their fucking jobs.

His old Converse are supple and have practically moulded to Louis’ feet by now, so there’s hardly a struggle when he slips them on and forcefully yanks open the balcony doors, letting the fresh mountain air soothe what he’s managed to salvage of his brain. Mist covers the mountains like a blanket and Louis’ view is so, so pretty from such a statuesque castle in the sky but he hardly ever takes time to appreciate it. His usual balcony posture consists of a cigarette between his lips and a smart phone in his palm, thumb scrolling, head down. It’s often quite cloudy but it never seems to rain. Louis fleetingly wonders if maybe there’s magic controlling the weather around the facility. He wouldn’t be surprised - nothing was made organically here. It’s all been through supernatural mediums, (though Louis’ synonym for those two words sounds quite a bit like ‘laziness’).

Louis wonders if the boy has powers. The thought sends a palm smacking into the side of his head, trying to push it out. He needs to fucking stop. Louis hardly knows the kid’s appearance, let alone his name or personality - he could be obsessing over a complete wanker. They could meet and immediately hate each other. But his whole… essence reeks of kindness. He’s one of the good ones. He has to be. Bad kids like Louis don’t wear pink bowties or comb their hair so it’s perfectly smooth and parted on the side that looks best. Bad kids like Louis don’t smile with dimples and teeth so white they reflect sunlight.

Louis’ head pounds with thoughts and mislead assumptions and just things that make him more and more confused, so he slouches against the balcony railing, finishes his cigarette, and tosses the stub between the rungs, watching it plunge into the mist below and wondering when he went absolutely mad.

*

**sex** **&** **spring**

They see each other on the first of April.

Harry’s wearing his absolute prettiest shade of blue (it’s the one his mum bought him a couple months ago - he’s only getting around to wearing it now), and his hair is pretty in curls. His dimples are popping with each person he greets and the sun is shining because it’s finally spring, which is where Harry is in his element, and everything is fine. The martini glass in his hand is still cool and so is his attitude.

Until, that is, Louis Tomlinson steps into the veranda.

He’s so suave, is the thing, and everybody wants to know him from the first few seconds of staring at his breathtaking appearance. Louis Tomlinson stands at a statuesque 6’2’’, standing above a good half of the other male students Harry usually hangs around with, and commands attention with his striking blue eyes and tight, bum-clinging skinny jeans that have Harry practically salivating from his spot on the couch. Jen looks over to ask if Harry needs any water because “you’re looking a bit out of it, love,” but he doesn’t hear her.

He’s too busy wondering if it worked.

Niall said that the potion takes a bit to kick in, but it’s been almost a month since the Irishman snuck it into his (turkey, bacon and cheese) sandwich. Louis left it out whilst taking a trip to the toilet in one of the classes the two share and came back completely unsuspecting. But now Harry’s sitting there, breathing heavily, and Louis is standing not even a metre away looking absolutely flawless and nothing is happening.

_Nothing._

“Harry, babe, have some cucumber water.” Jen shoves a plastic pink water bottle into Harry’s hands and waits for him to lift it to his lips before asking, “So… who’s that new kid?”

And Harry would answer, he really would, if he weren’t already too distracted to reply to Cinderella’s only daughter. (The princess has ten children in total - poor Jennifer is the only female among the bunch). Jen nudges at Harry’s shoulder and pinches the tanned skin of the Prince’s forearm.

Harry yelps.

Louis turns.

And then everything happens at once.

Louis is dropping down on the couch next to Harry, eyes roaming his body for any obvious injury, asking things like “are you okay?” and “Is the heat getting to you?” and “You look so much prettier than I imagined.” The younger boy is nodding and smiling and leaning slightly into Louis so he can get more of that masculine, enrapturing scent all over him.

His obsession with Louis Tomlinson has escalated to new heights, but that doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? All that matters is that Louis is even more obsessed with Harry than Harry is with him.

Love is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

“Thank you so much for checking on me,” Harry smiles, giggling and playing with the top button of his blouse. Louis’ eyes follow the movement and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m fine - the real question, though, is aren’t you burning up?” Harry’s hand rests delicately on Louis’ jean-clad knee as he speaks. “Denim can get real warm when it’s hot outside, you know.”

Louis’ gaze is shifting to Harry’s lips, watching them shine in the midday sunlight, wondering what they would look like covered in his - “It’s not too bad,” Louis answers. His fingers itch to intertwine with Harry’s where his are resting on his knee, inching up higher slowly, slowly.

Jen watches the encounter and stands from the couch, uncomfortable and suspicious. Harry’s always been quite the flirt, but in their five years of friendship, Jen has never seen the curly-haired lad venture so confidently with a boy in a years older than him. A Bad One, no less. Usually Harry and those born with substantially less manners stay far apart, coming from opposite sides of the tracks and staying that way. But now… now she sees something she hasn’t before.

With squinted eyes and a twisted mouth, she decides she sees recklessness. Harry is being reckless. Yet she doesn’t say a single word when the two of them saunter from the party, hand in hand, tossing excuses of “it’s too hot out here” over their shoulders as they disappear into the school.

*

Harry is guilty.

Louis’ lips are pressing hot against his neck and his blinds are drawn and it’s sweltering in his small dorm room and Harry’s guilty, guilty, guilty.

He’s sure Louis can smell it from where he’s nosing against Harry’s collarbones, smell the scared and the anxious and the guilty but if he does he doesn’t react, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. Suddenly the music is too loud even though Harry’s phone can’t get any quieter without going completely mute, and Harry’s hips grinding on Louis’ is too dirty, too raw. The younger boy vaguely hears Louis say “what’s wrong, babe?” but it’s distant and far away and Harry’s too busy dealing with his personal moral dilemma to consider the words.

Giving someone a love potion is pretty much date rape. That’s it’s equivalent. Tears spring into Harry’s eyes as he realizes all the consent issues and the moral issues and the things so many people are made victims out of swirling around his actions. Harry just watched a documentary - Harry watches more than the recommended amount of documentaries, probably - that said, in college campuses across the United States, up to 90% of rape reports go unattended to.

Harry is so, so guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, back turned to the mattress where Louis currently is sitting, confused and cross-legged, hair ruffled from Harry’s hands and cheeks flushed. “I’m so, so sorry. I tricked you,” Harry cries, “I’m an awful person.” Harry keeps his eyes focused on the wall, focused on that small hole between two cement blocks, the one all the spiders come through. He desperately hopes he doesn’t witness a spider breaking into his home ; he might just scream and ruin this whole scene of tears and angst he has brooding behind him.

“You’re not an awful person,” Louis sooths, rushing to Harry’s back and rubbing up and down his shoulder blades. Harry jerks away. “No, no, none of that. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“No.”

Louis laughs at the pretty boy who currently resembles a petulant toddler with his arms crossed across his chest like that, small frame slightly curled in on itself as he pouts. Harry’s lips look pinker in this light. “Is this about Jen? Because she’s a snitch - tattled on me in the second grade when I stole a pencil from the teacher,” Louis chuckles, bending down a bit to duck his face down and kiss Harry’s chin. “No good, that one.”

The first tear falls when Harry says, “good thing she’s my best friend, then - we deserve each other.”

As the salty drop drips down the shorter boy’s face, Louis’ eyebrows crinkle up and his lips press lightly to the space that tear has covered, trying to repair the damage it’s done. Harry sniffles and lets himself be engulfed in Louis’ heat, sinking, sinking, sinking until he’s underwater, serene and floating. He can’t breathe too well when Louis is this close - he’s too much of a presence, too much of personality for Harry’s meekness - but that’s okay. He would much rather drown with Louis than starve without him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Louis coaxes, whisper soft. His hands are softly trailing down Harry’s arms, and when he reaches the hem of his jeans, his fingers slip beneath the waistband and trail across the elastic reading ‘Calvin Klein’ underneath. “Or don’t - I’ll work it out of you.”

Harry chokes on a sob as Louis’ index finger slips beneath his boxer shorts, and immediately the presence of it is gone. Instead, the digit is running softly down his cheekbones, tracing them, memorizing them. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Are you a virgin? Because if you want we can work with that -”

“I’m not - I mean, I am but that’s not why I’m sad,” Harry stumbles, wiping away his tears angrily. “I just don’t know how to tell you what’s going on without losing you.”

Louis thought about talking about how Harry’s hardly had him in the first place but he says instead : “You won’t -”

“I will. It’s horrible.”

Harry’s breathing begins to pick up again, hurt and anxious, so Louis tugs at his hand and leads Harry to the chair in the corner of his room. The taller boy sits down and looks to Harry who’s still standing, pouty and teary, waiting for an invitation. It comes in the form of a thigh pat, and suddenly Louis has a lapful of lanky, pink-dressed boy and wet cheeks. He noses his way into the crook of Louis’ neck and he breathes in deep because the cologne Louis uses is calming and immediately he feels better. His muscles untense, his chest feels lighter.

He’s with Louis and Louis feels like home.

“I… I used a potion,” Harry confesses, sniffing. “Well, my flatmate used a potion but it was still my idea and I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, okay? I’m so sorry.” He chokes out a small sob. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far… actually I did. That was a lie. I’m sorry I just lied to you. I meant to have you fall in love with me because I obsessed over you from afar like a creepy person and I’m sorry.”

A pause.

Then, “it’s okay.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s not okay. It’s definitely not okay. You’re still under the potion now. You’ll be under it for a couple more days at least.” He sounds miserable when he says “I hate that this happened. I should’ve just left you alone.”

Louis’ hand is running up and down Harry’s spine in constant comfort. The smaller boy burrows deeper into him and sighs, trying to calm his erratic breathing.

“Harry.”

“What.”

“You know that I’m immune, right?”

Harry has never moved so fast. He’s suddenly standing, hands tangled in his hair, pacing, pacing, pacing up and down the room. His little heeled boots make clicking sounds on the wood and Harry thinks that he’s probably holding Louis’ attention quite well right about now, with his bum-hugging jeans and his clicky boots and his pretty hair. He’s probably standing perfect at the height of Louis’ captivation but it couldn’t mean less to him right now.

Because Louis actually likes him.

Like. _Like_ likes him. And he didn't sacrifice his good name. Because Louis genuinely, _really_ , likes _him_. 

Before Harry knows what’s happening, Louis has his lips covering his and he’s pushing Harry’s hair from his neck so his teeth can suck a bruise into the soft skin there. There’s a moan echoing in the room and neither of them remember who it belongs to. It’s happening so fast and it’s okay because Louis is immune to any and all magical spells besides his own.

And it’s wonderful.

Teeth are clanking together and it hurts but Harry thinks it’s a good kind of hurt, the kind that reminds you that you’re still alive, the kind that sends your heart racing so fast it’s tripping over itself to go faster, faster, faster. Louis’ tongue runs over Harry’s molars and his flaws and his sorry and traces them until they’re nothing but Harry’s softening posture in his arms, slumped over and hands tugging impatiently at the hem of his shirt. He’s so pretty - Louis has his eyes closed but the way Harry has them tangled together is just so pretty and Louis can’t get enough.

They have this biting rawness and neediness that fuels the way Louis shoves Harry down so he’s flat on the bed, hooded eyes and spit-slick lips. His hair’s gone tangled so as one hand moves to unbutton his skinny jeans, the other of Louis’ hands reaches up to smooth Harry’s curls from his face. It’s gentle and sweet and unusual, probably, for someone like Louis. The people Louis hangs out with would ridicule him if they saw this.

Bad being corrupted by good isn’t something seen often.

When Louis has got his jeans off, his fingers dig underneath Harry’s waistband and feel around his cute, weeping cockhead and watches his face scrunch up in pleasure, sharp little gasps escaping his bubblegum mouth. Harry moans a bit then covers his mouth with his palm, eyes widening in a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

Louis chuckles, pecks Harry’s nose, and whispers “you’re doing so well sweetheart” and continues to run his index around Harry’s slit, the slick expanse of his head. The smaller boy’s hips jump before Louis has his hand pressing at his hipbone to keep them still.

“Is this okay?” Louis asks, and the words aren’t even completely out of his mouth before Harry’s nodding and pushing his boxers off his hips like they’re burning him. Louis tries to keep the look of pure surprise and pleasure from his face but he’s failing. Harry’s whines are intoxicating and Louis can’t keep a single thought in his head that consists of anything besides _Harry, Harry, Harry_.

Louis shifts his position so he’s planking over Harry, one elbow pressing beside Harry’s head while the other hand works on Harry’s hard cock, pumping it and stroking it and coaxing small little noises from the good boy’s throat that sound like innocence and Louis please. Beads of sweat rivet down Harry’s hairline as Louis presses kisses to the hollow of his collarbones, biting down softly, licking over the bruises.

It’s a process and it’s a process Harry can’t himself from writhing from.

“I’m - _nngh_ ,” he moans, gripping Louis’ wrist in desperation. “Lou, Lou, I’m gonna come.”

“Mmm,” Louis hums against Harry’s skin, smiling as he works his fist faster over the small boy’s tiny penis, using the wetness at the head as lubrication. Harry’s whimpers grow in volume steadily, fidgeting, grip on Louis’ wrist tightening until he lets out one loud, long moan paired with a jerk of his body as he shoots all over his belly, all over Louis’ hand.

As Louis gently works him through it, he’s whispering things like “shh, baby, you’re doing so well” and “that’s it, so beautiful.”

Harry’s coming down when Louis gently rubs the cum off of him with a couple tissues, pressing tiny, chaste kisses to the places he wipes off, smiling at the twitching of Harry’s abs as his body cools. The sun is setting now and it’s casting pretty shadows across Harry’s body. Louis doesn’t know if he’s seen anyone as pretty as Harry before.

And as they kiss with shaky lips, Louis doesn’t know if he ever will.


End file.
